


A Less Than Perfect Storm

by Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [35]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9616409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred
Summary: the vacation from hell





	

Title: A Less Than Perfect Storm

Author: Lady Saddlebred (cdelapin@yahoo.com)

Archive: Yes, please

Category: Qui/Obi, Alternate Reality, Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: NC-17

Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me in School (archived)

 

DISCLAIMER: George Lucas owned everything, until he sold it to Disney. We own nothing, just building castles in the sand

 

Special thanks to Katbear, Merry Amelie and Helen, mes betas par excellence! 

 

Summary: the vacation from hell

 

Previous fics in series: all on AO3 website:  
Early Admission  
Lessons They Never Taught Me in School  
Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus  
That Which Does Not Go to School  
Rainy Day Recess   
Of Popcorn and Pine Trees  
Fit to Print  
Daffodils  
Spring Cotillion  
Is That a Lightsaber I See Before Me?  
A Pen for Your Thoughts  
When I Was Your Age  
Partners  
Mum’s the Word  
Best Laid Plans  
An Apple for Teacher  
What’s for Supper?  
Pacifier  
Snow Angels  
One Man’s Junk  
May I Have This Dance?  
Four Green Fields  
Too Darned Hot  
Pomp and Circumstances  
Summertime Blues  
Blow the Man Down  
Post-Graduate Studies  
Crossing the Pond  
Moving On  
Picnic in the Park  
Family Matters  
Meeting of the Moms  
Ebony and Ivories

 

~*~*~*~

 

“*MAN OVERBOARD*!”

 

He clutched the railing in a white-knuckled grip, straining for a glimpse of a body in the churning waters. The squall had come up almost too quickly for passenger warnings. The ship rolled drunkenly from side to side, sending travelers scurrying for the safety of their cabins. 

 

Idiot, he thought to himself, leaning even further over the rail. What on earth were you thinking? Damn it, get your ass back up here so I can beat the shit out of you and throw you overboard!

 

“Sir, please,” begged the desperate young officer behind him. “Step away from the rail and put on your life jacket. We don’t need anyone *else* going over!” He struggled to pull the straps into place. “*Now*, sir, or we will be forced to have you confined to your cabin. *Please*!”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Three weeks earlier:

 

Ben glanced up as Quinn strolled into the living room, eyes twinkling in the way Ben had learned early on typically meant he was up to no good. “You look like the cat that swallowed a canary and washed it down with a big bowl of cream,” he remarked.

 

“Do I?” Quinn replied, looking extremely pleased with himself. “I can’t imagine where you’d get such an idea, Benjamin. You’re so suspicious.” His voice was deceptively casual, belying the gleam in the cerulean-blue depths.

 

“All right, out with it,” Ben said resignedly. “What have you busted?”

 

“On the contrary,” Quinn responded. “I have, in fact, just finalized the details on what promises to be a most enjoyable adventure in celebration of that nauseatingly whimsical holiday commonly known as Valentine’s Day.” He clicked his heels, bowed and handed Ben a slim envelope gift-wrapped with a red rosette. 

 

“Excuse me?” Ben asked, mentally weighing the possibilities his lover’s quirky Irish sense of humor could have devised. The packet *looked* innocent enough, but first impressions could be deceiving where Quinn was concerned.

 

“Go on, open it!” Quinn urged. 

 

Damn, the man was practically vibrating in place. Ben grinned at his obvious excitement and carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a folded sheet of familiar mottled tan stationery, wrapped around what looked like… airline tickets? And a glossy brochure… 

 

“What are you up to?” Ben murmured, as he opened the letter and read Quinn’s elegant burgundy-inked script:

 

My dear Ben,

 

Happy Valentine’s Day (a wee bit early)!

 

In recognition of this most romantic of holidays, and in an attempt to make   
up for my woefully inadequate previous offerings, I have secured us a first-  
class berth on a five-day cruise departing Miami for the Bahamas. 

 

Adele has graciously agreed to watch over the house and Bernini while we   
are away, in return for my sworn promise to bring her back a sexy   
“souvenir.” You may pick him out for her; I disclaim all responsibility in   
that regard.

 

All my love,

 

Quinn

 

The pamphlet certainly looked inviting: pristine sandy beaches, surrounded by clear sapphire-blue water, and a gleaming white cruise ship in the background. Scantily clad models of both sexes frolicked on the shore, clearly having the time of their lives. No children in sight; probably secreted away with special accommodations, so their parents could enjoy more adult entertainment. 

 

“Wow,” breathed Ben, looking up at Quinn. “This looks fabulous, Quinn. Thank you.” He glanced down again at the airplane tickets – first class, of course. He couldn’t imagine Quinn flying coach with those long legs. “When do we leave?”

 

“A week from Saturday. We’ll fly out of Boston to Miami, and board the ship on Sunday morning. Plenty of time to purchase anything we’ll need: bathing suits, sports clothes, rubber ducks. We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” Quinn replied, scrutinizing his lover’s physique. “Be sure to bring your tux.”

 

“You’re staring,” Ben gently reminded him. 

 

“Why, yes, I am,” Quinn affirmed. “You’re gorgeous, and I look forward to showing you off.” He leaned down, lips grazing Ben’s ear. “*And* to making love to you under the stars on one of those secluded private beaches.” He nuzzled the soft skin of Ben’s neck.

 

Ben swallowed hard at the erotic images that sprang to mind, not to mention the involuntary shivers from Quinn’s beard against his skin. Turning into the embrace, he opened his mouth to meet Quinn’s lips. Then a thought made him pull back and laugh. 

 

“Have you ever had sex on a beach? Sand in lots of *really* inconvenient places, mixed with salt water and who knows what else. I’m game if you are, but I’m not sure it’ll live up to your expectations.” He playfully licked the tip of his lover’s nose.

 

Quinn’s rich laughter filled his ears. “Ye might hae a point there, lad. But nothin’ ventured, yeah? We’ll be thinkin’ o’ somethin’, to be sure.” He pulled Ben to his feet and into his arms in one smooth motion. “Would ye be after gettin’ in some practice ahead o’ time?” 

 

“Lead the way, love.” 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben stared around the passenger ship in delight. Even his wildest imaginings paled next to the reality of the luxurious cruise liner, their home for the next five days. And the thought of spending that time openly with his lover, far away from prying eyes, was almost too much to contemplate. 

 

All because Quinn had felt guilty about only gifting him with chocolates and a card last year. The man had a serious case of one-upmanship. Go figure.

 

He counted nine separate decks above the water line, lined with attractive men and women of all ages, all looking every bit as excited as he was. Their cabin (or “berth,” as Quinn called it) on the Lotus Deck was airy and spacious, boasting a king-sized bed and light-colored built-in furniture. They even had their own personal steward, a stunning 20-something brunet by the name of Peter Bartholomew. His tight white uniform seemed tailored to show everything to its best advantage, and Ben couldn’t help but admire the view. He was only human. And Quinn had taken a surprisingly enlightened position on the subject: 

 

“Ben, I don’t mind if you look at other men, or at women, for that matter. After all, please remember that I am a doctor of biology. And, biologically speaking, if you’re looking you’re breathing, and if you’re breathing you’re alive. Infinitely preferable to the alternative. Enjoy the scenery, love.”

 

Young Bartholomew clearly relished the attentions he received on board, and Ben had little doubt he found plenty of innovative ways to keep his assigned passengers blissfully happy. Even Quinn was amused by Peter’s unabashedly flirtatious manner, privately comparing him to Bernini as a puppy: all big feet and waggy tail, and overeager to please. 

 

A magnum of Dom Perignon in a silver ice bucket was waiting in their cabin when they arrived, together with two crystal champagne flutes and a spectacular arrangement of multi-colored long-stemmed roses. Adele’s note wished them bon voyage, and reminded them to bring her back a souvenir. It also hinted broadly that emailed updates and pictures would be welcomed. 

 

“Bit of a devil, isn’t she,” Quinn murmured, as he expertly rotated the champagne bottle in the ice and bent to sniff the fragrant flowers. “We’ll have to be sure to bring her something even *she’d* be too embarrassed to show in public.” He deftly popped the cork, then poured the foaming champagne into the glasses.

 

“We could send her Peter,” Ben suggested wickedly. “I bet she’d love to have a cute live-in boy toy.”

 

Quinn gave an appreciative laugh. “Touché. Young Bartholomew would be a match for her, I agree. Except I think he’d be rather more inclined to follow *you* home. His tastes seem to run more to… muscles over curves, if you take my meaning.” 

 

Ben smiled at Quinn’s endearingly awkward turn of phrase, and the blush that crept up over the neatly trimmed beard. “It’s all right, Quinn, you can say it. He’s *gay*. I guess a cruise like this could be a happy hunting ground.” A glance at his lover’s darkening countenance made him add hastily, “For everybody else, I mean. The ones who don’t have their very own gorgeous, brilliant, generous, adorable, magnificent-”

 

“Enough, Ben. I get it. You like your present.” Quinn handed him a champagne flute. “Slàinte.”

 

They clinked glasses, then strolled out on deck to watch the departure. The pier was filled with well-wishers waving goodbye to those on board. Several passengers held bouquets of flowers -- going-away gifts, no doubt – and tossed blooms and streamers down to the crowds below. A loud blast of the horn overhead signaled imminent departure, and the cries became even more frantic as the big ship began to slowly pull away from the wharf. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

A few yards from where Quinn and Ben were standing, a tall dark-haired man lounged in the shadow of the overhang. He could hardly believe his eyes. 

 

Ben Kensington. How many years had it been? And who was the big good-looking guy he was with? Older, clearly well-to-do, real top-drawer sugar-daddy material. Had the kid finally come out of the closet? 

 

Garth Mulner licked his lips in anticipation and slowly walked away.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Shortly after the compulsory lifeboat drill, Ben answered a knock at their cabin door. Peter, their steward, gave him a dazzling smile. “With the Captain’s compliments, gentlemen.” He bowed and handed Ben a small envelope addressed in beautiful calligraphy to “Dr. Quinntrell J. Donovan and Mr. Benjamin W. Kensington, Lotus Deck, Cabin A232.”

 

“Thanks, Peter,” Ben said absently, studying the envelope. 

 

Peter turned smartly on his heel and sashayed back down the hallway, hips swaying provocatively in his tight uniform trousers. Waggy tail is right, thought Ben, with a grin.

 

“What is it, love?” Quinn asked, from where he had stretched out on the king-sized bed.

 

“Looks like an invitation of some kind.” Ben handed Quinn the envelope. “Peter said it was from the Captain.”

 

Quinn sat up and slit open the envelope, drawing out an inscribed note card. “Hmm, we’ve been invited to join the Captain at his table for dinner this evening. We should dress accordingly.” He handed Ben the card. “Perhaps you’d like to keep it as a memento.”

 

“Why would the Captain ask us to sit at his table?” Ben asked curiously. “Do you know him?”

 

“No,” Quinn answered. “But it’s traditional for the ship’s captain to extend his largesse to the more… affluent… passengers on board.” He shrugged. “Lese majesté.”

 

Ben laughed at his bland cynicism. “Or maybe he just wants to wine and dine the handsomest man on board. Peter probably tipped him off.”

 

Quinn rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, I’m sure. Well, whatever the reason, we will be certain to rise to the occasion.”

 

~*~*~*~ 

 

Ben and Quinn entered the dining room together. Ben tried not to fidget in his tux, which he’d only worn a couple of times before. By contrast, Quinn looked as if he’d been born wearing Armani. The ebony cane with which Ben had gifted him the previous Christmas was the perfect accent. Quinn had cut one of the roses from Adele’s bon voyage bouquet and placed it in Ben’s buttonhole. Ben had returned the favor, then insisted on a selfie of the two of them to send to Adele before exiting their cabin. 

 

Peter escorted them to the Captain’s table and presented them to the ship’s company of officers. Quinn was seated at the Captain’s right, Ben directly across from him. A handful of additional passengers, all dressed to the nines, soon joined them. 

 

Captain Collingsworth introduced everyone over appetizers and made polite cocktail conversation with practiced ease. Quinn responded in a similar vein. More than a little intimidated by the lavish surroundings, Ben took his cues from his partner. The man seated to his left was a stockbroker, openly intent on securing new clientele during the cruise. Ben politely deflected his less-than-subtle questions on his portfolio, and the self-proclaimed Wall Street wizard soon lost interest. He caught Quinn’s questioning glance across the table and gave him a reassuring smile. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

“So, tell me, Professor Donovan,” First Officer Córdoba asked over after-dinner cognac, “what is your area of expertise?”

 

“Botany, principally. I chair the biology department at our school.” Quinn stretched his long legs comfortably. Most of their table had risen to seek other amusements, so there was plenty of room. Ben had opted to explore the evening’s social offerings, with Quinn’s full approbation. Let the lad enjoy himself. They were on vacation.

 

“That’s quite impressive,” Cordoba replied. “I was a math major myself, though I managed to squeak through a couple of bio courses. I minored in physics.” 

 

“Math was probably a better background for your line of work,” Quinn agreed.

 

The two men chatted amiably, finding several common interests. When Córdoba invited Quinn to join him on the bridge the following evening for some stargazing and a demonstration of nautical navigation, Quinn accepted with alacrity.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Loud music and neon lights assaulted Ben’s senses as he entered the lounge. The room was packed with party animals, gyrating to the sounds of a live band. It’d been years since he’d stepped foot in a club. But hell, he was on vacation, right? And this was hardly the kind of entertainment Quinn was likely to enjoy. Let him talk shop with the urbane First Officer, who was closer to Quinn’s age anyway. They seemed to have really hit it off at dinner. Good for Quinn. He deserved the break, at least as much as Ben did.

 

He ordered a rum-and-coke, something he could nurse while he decided whether to stay. Admittedly a lightweight when it came to alcohol, he didn’t need to wake up with a hangover. The dusky-skinned bartender was tall, with a sultry accent that fell like liquid velvet on Ben’s ears. His smile broadened at the generous tip Ben left in the bowl, and he squeezed Ben’s hand as he handed him the glass. “Enjoy, suh,” he said, over the music. “Plenty more when you ready, mon.”

 

Sipping his drink and studying the room for a place to sit down, Ben couldn’t help but notice the number of same-sex couples on the dance floor and at the tables. It reminded him that he and Quinn were free to enjoy themselves together openly for the next several days. In spite of their having been “outed” on campus by Xandra Criton the year before (or maybe because of it), they still preferred to keep their relationship relatively cloistered. But they were on vacation, far away from the Academy’s judgmental scrutiny, and he intended to make the most of it. He suspected the same thought had been on Quinn’s mind when he’d planned this holiday outing.

 

An attractive young woman in a low-cut blouse and short skirt approached him. “Dance, hot stuff?” 

 

Ben smiled politely. “Thanks, but I think I’ll wait this one out.” The beat was too fast for his taste, and he was reluctant to make a fool of himself in front of all the other people.

 

“You sure? It’s a great band, and you’re way too good looking to be over here all by your lonesome. C’mon, it’s just a dance. Live a little!” 

 

Oh hell, why not, Ben thought, setting his drink on the bar. “Okay, sure, let’s dance.” 

 

He took her hand and they made their way onto the crowded floor. The song changed to something Ben actually recognized, and he fell into step with his dance partner, moving easily to the music. The woman leaned back and closed her eyes, lost in her own little world, and Ben simply moved in time with her. He noticed again the number of men dancing with men, women with women, and thought back to the Valentine’s Day celebration in Tony’s cabin the year before. Maybe he could convince Quinn to join him later. Like the lady said, live a little. Make this Valentine’s Day one for the memory books.

 

They danced a couple of numbers, then another guy cut in and the woman whirled away in his arms, leaving Ben alone on the floor. Thinking to rescue his drink, he headed back toward the bar. That rum-and-coke would taste pretty good about now. If it was gone, he’d just get another one from the handsome bartender and watch the show for a while.

 

Just then, a pair of arms snaked around his waist from behind. He felt the press of a muscled chest against his back, and for a split second thought Quinn had somehow found him in all the crush of people. Then he stiffened in shock as a voice spoke near his left ear.

 

“Hello, Ben. Fancy running into you here. Miss me?”

 

Ben stepped free of the embrace and turned. A tall man in skin-tight leather trousers and a silk shirt open halfway to his waist grinned at him. Ben felt the blood rush to his feet. Oh, my God… 

 

“*Garth*?”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben’s mind nearly shut down in shock. But there was no mistaking the raven-haired man, who had clearly recognized him as well. Seeing him brought back all the misery of that awful night in college like it was yesterday. 

 

“Aww, you remembered,” Garth purred, reaching out to stroke Ben’s dinner jacket. “Ooh, nice threads, dude. Really come up in the world, haven’t you?” The sibilant undertone made Ben’s flesh crawl. He very deliberately moved away. 

 

“It’s been a long time, Garth. How are you?” he managed politely, mentally gauging the distance to the exit.

 

“Great,” Garth enthused. “Isn’t this place terrific? Everything a guy could ask for, in triplicate. One from Column A, two from Column B, eh, buddy?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ben said, through stiff lips. “I’m not really-”

 

“Oh, sure you do, kiddo,” Garth said easily, moving closer. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten everything Brian and I taught you in school. You have to go out and find what you’re looking for, right? And, man alive, this place has got everything *anybody* could want!” He gave a wolfish smile and clapped Ben on the shoulder. 

 

“Garth, look, I don’t do that sort of thing. I’m… I’m with someone, and very happy. So, thanks, but I’m not interested.” He was pleased that his voice didn’t shake. 

 

Garth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you? Well, that’s great, Ben. I’m happy for you. Really.” 

 

“Thank you,” Ben said stiffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to call it a night. Enjoy the cruise.”

 

“Pleasant dreams, buddy boy,” Garth said, with a smirk. “See you around the boat.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben meandered the ship, telling himself that running into Garth Mulner after so many years was just an unfortunate twist of fate. Except Quinn didn’t believe in coincidences. Garth probably spent a lot of time on similar outings, indulging his sexual appetites. His predatory style clearly hadn’t changed. But why the hell did he have to be on *this* ship, *this* cruise?

 

Ben didn’t trust the bastard as far as he could throw him. He considered telling Quinn, but how would he explain it? That an old… acquaintance? Flame? Date rapist? was on board? Quinn would go ballistic. No, he decided reluctantly, the cruise was only five days long, four now. He’d just have to try to avoid him as much as possible, and stick close to Quinn. Why give the son-of-a-bitch the satisfaction? 

 

As he turned a corner to head back toward their cabin, he spotted Quinn standing at the rail, looking out over the ocean. He moved to join him. 

 

Quinn’s smile was warm. “Hullo, handsome. Having a good time?”

 

“Yeah,” Ben answered, shoving Garth to the back of his mind with a vengeance. “You?”

 

“Very much. I wasn’t sure where you’d taken yourself off to, so I thought I’d just get some fresh air before turning in. You have your key, right?”

 

“Sure. I went by one of the clubs on board, but it was too noisy, so I left. Ready to call it a night?”

 

Quinn turned back to the view. “Look at the moon on the water. Beautiful. I’ve missed that.”

 

“It’s gorgeous.” Ben pulled out his smartphone and took a picture. Then he stepped back and snapped again, this time with Quinn in the foreground. His black tuxedo blended in with the dark water and night sky, making him look sexy and mysterious. 

 

Quinn smiled indulgently, then cupped Ben’s face in his big hands. “I love you,” he said softly, blue eyes warm in the moonlight.

 

“Love you, too,” Ben whispered. Their lips met, and they stood for a long moment in each other’s arms.

 

Neither man noticed they were being watched.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Holy shit,” Ben whispered to Quinn Monday morning, as they strolled around the deck. “Get a load of *that* guy!” 

 

“Who?” Quinn asked, glancing around. 

 

“Over there, by the rail.” Quinn followed his direction, and struggled not to smile.

 

The man in question had “arranged” (there really was no other word for it) himself against the railing of the ship, wearing only a form-fitting white Speedo and a matching Captain’s cap. From the rear, it was difficult to tell his age. Staring out across the water, he affected a total lack of concern for passers-by, while clearly very aware of the picture he presented. 

 

“Interesting,” Quinn commented, studying him for a long moment. “Likely on the prowl.”

 

“Gee, ya think?” Ben replied, with a grin. He cast another sidelong glance at the man. “Nice butt, though,” he quipped.

 

“If you say so,” Quinn agreed calmly, continuing down the deck. A veteran traveler to the Continent, he’d become pretty inured to such displays. But it was amusing to watch Ben’s unworldly reactions. In his peripheral vision, he saw Ben cautiously raise his smartphone, before hurrying to catch up. Let the lad look – they were on vacation. 

 

“This place is amazing,” Ben commented. “Does everyone change clothes three or four times a day, or are they just cloned?”

 

Quinn chuckled. “They’re here to see and be seen, love. I think you’d call it ‘networking.’”

 

“Hey, not bad, Professor! You’re getting good at picking up the lingo,” Ben applauded, with a cheeky grin. “Bet ole Captain Speedo back there would have loved to ‘network’ a while with you.”

 

Quinn snorted. “I think not. I don’t find that sort of thing attractive, in men or women. I prefer a more… subtle approach.”

 

Ben laughed. “I’m not worried.”

 

“Nor should ye be, lad,” Quinn answered, linking Ben’s arm in his. “I hae everything I need or want, right here beside me.”

 

“Me, too,” Ben answered, with a smile.

 

They continued their stroll, blithely ignoring the envious furtive glances cast their way.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben had tried not to gawk at the man posturing against the rail. Quinn had hardly given him a second glance, but he’d probably run into that sort of thing before. Even when Ben kidded him about how the poser would probably love to be packed up in Quinn’s suitcase, he’d only made a vaguely disapproving noise and walked on. Ben couldn’t resist capturing a picture, emailing it to Adele with a snarky comment. Then he ran to catch up with Quinn, by now several yards away and showing no sign of slowing. Slipping his hand into Quinn’s earned him an answering squeeze and an indulgent smile. 

 

“Get a good one of him?” Quinn asked, with a small smile.

 

Ben grinned sheepishly. “Guilty.” He showed Quinn the picture.

 

“Nicely done. Very artistic composition,” was all he said, but the blue eyes twinkled, and Ben knew he wasn’t upset.

 

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a good teacher, *Professor*. How long you think it’ll take him to hook up with someone?”

 

Quinn made a rude noise deep in his throat. “Probably not long, though I’d have to question the integrity of both the ‘hooker’ and the ‘hookee’. That kind of blatant opportunism leaves me cold.”

 

“And here I thought you’d see all this as some grandiose research opportunity. Human biology and all that. Mating customs and interactions among the species,” said Ben with a straight-face, deliberately baiting his partner. 

 

Quinn didn’t disappoint. “First of all, this is more *sociology* than *biology*, infant. Secondly, I am on vacation, not a field sabbatical. And, as I seem to have left my notebook at home, any observations of the natives in their natural habitat will regrettably have to be set aside for the duration.” 

 

Ben laughed and allowed himself to be drawn into Quinn’s embrace, reveling in the possessiveness of it, in the fact that they could be so publicly a couple. It was a heady feeling. Quinn’s tolerant chuckle echoed his amusement.

 

Even as they continued their walk, Ben recognized the signs of the omnipresent researcher coming to the fore. He was quite sure that had Quinn had his infamous notebook and fountain pen handy, he’d have been taking copious notes. Passengers and crew were scrutinized in passing, the details mentally filed away. Ben was always fascinated by the sheer volume of information Quinn could process from the most casual survey of his environment, and the depth of perfect recall weeks, or even months later. 

 

He entertained himself by watching the other people, mentally speculating as to their back stories. There were more than a few return glances -- some fairly subtle, others less so – in their direction, but other than a polite nod of the head or a brief response in passing, Quinn remained outwardly indifferent, and Ben followed his example. He released Ben’s arm from his own as they navigated a narrow passageway, but they remained in close proximity to each other. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

On Tuesday, Valentine’s Day, red and white streamers and balloons decorated the ship from stem to stern, and breakfast trays with bud vases of red roses were delivered to every cabin by the stewards. Ben fixed a rose in Quinn’s buttonhole. Quinn whimsically stuck one behind Ben’s ear.

 

Lunch was an open-air buffet on deck. Ben volunteered to get their plates, while Quinn secured a table. He was making his way slowly through the line, when he saw Garth approaching from the opposite side. Unable to avoid a confrontation, he nodded a stiff greeting to his former classmate.

 

“Morning, Ben,” Garth said cheerfully. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He glanced around. “Flying solo?” 

 

Ben shook his head. “No, Quinn’s waiting for me. I’m getting food for both of us.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the poolside table Quinn had secured for them. 

 

Garth smiled. “Gee, it’s nice that you look after him so well, buddy. I just hope he appreciates all the TLC.” 

 

Ben bristled at the thinly veiled implication that Quinn needed a caregiver. Well, he was entitled to his opinion, however inaccurate. Quinn Donovan was more physically fit than many of the passengers on board half his age! And better looking, besides. 

 

As they reached the end of the buffet table, Garth leaned in, outwardly concerned. “Better keep an eye on him.”

 

“And why is that?” Ben asked coolly.

 

“Just a suggestion to an old friend,” Garth said, with a shrug. “I’d hate to see you get… hurt.”

 

Ben set the plates down on the edge of the buffet table. “Excuse me?” 

 

“Just saying. Lots of things can happen on these cruises.” Garth gave him a mocking smile and strolled away, leaving Ben fuming. A polite cough from the woman behind him reminded him he was holding up the line and with a murmured apology, he picked up the plates and headed for their table.

 

“Looks good,” Quinn commented as Ben took his seat and handed him his plate. “One thing you can definitely count on is being well fed on these trips. I wouldn’t be surprised if we both gained a few pounds.”

 

“Yeah, well, we’ll just have to make sure we ‘work it off,’ won’t we,” growled Ben, as he bit savagely into a cold-cut sandwich, imagining it was Garth’s leering face between the slices of bread. The blood-red ketchup oozing from the sides only reinforced the image in his mind.

 

Quinn frowned. “Something wrong?” he asked, spreading his napkin on his lap and reaching for his water glass. “You seem a bit… on edge.”

 

“No, I’m fine,” Ben said absently, trying to unobtrusively see where Garth had gone. “Just hungry. It’s a really good sandwich. Want a bite?”

 

“No, thanks. The way you’re tearing into it, I might lose a finger,” Quinn said, with a rueful smile. “I guess the salt air is giving you an appetite.” Ben nodded. “Saw you talking to that man at the table. Somebody you met at the club last night?”

 

Ben swallowed, trying to gauge the real question. But Quinn seemed only mildly curious, just making conversation. “Um, yeah, just small talk going through the line.”

 

“That’s nice.” Quinn took a forkful of fruit salad. “So, what would you like to do today? Maybe have a swim in the pool?”

 

“Yeah, that’d be fun,” Ben agreed. “But be sure to put on plenty of sunscreen. You know how easily you burn.”

 

Quinn rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mum.” 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben dug out his new swim trunks. They’d looked pretty daring in the store, but compared to what he’d already seen on board, they were downright conservative. Quinn had opted for a more traditional style, pleading his “advanced” age and tenure. Ben had scoffed, but found the tables abruptly turned when Quinn produced a microscopic burgundy Speedo and challenged *him* to try it on. Ben had flushed nearly the same color as he looked in the dressing room mirror, then doubly so at his partner’s heated reaction. If not for the other shoppers in the nearby stalls, Quinn might have jumped his bones then and there. Discretion barely proved the better part of valor, and Quinn had reluctantly left him to get dressed while he rang up their purchases. 

 

Somehow, Ben hadn’t been surprised to find the Speedo in his suitcase when they got to the ship, but he drew the line at wearing it in public. One “poser” on the ship was more than enough. Especially with Garth on board. He told himself he’d save it for a more private showing.

 

They made port that afternoon, and Quinn suggested they go ashore and have dinner in town. Neither man was particularly interested in the wild party planned on board ship that night. Peter recommended a dockside restaurant with excellent seafood. They joined several other passengers in one of the launches and spent a couple of pleasant hours checking out the local wares. 

 

“Remember,” Quinn cautioned, “it’s customary to haggle over prices. Fail to do so, and they’ll think you’re an easy mark. And word will flash down the street fast as lightning.”

 

“You can do the talking,” Ben said, with a grin. “I’ll just enjoy the show.”

 

“Fair enough,” Quinn agreed. “If you see something you like, just quietly point it out, but nothing obvious. These people have sharp eyes, and they’re used to unsuspecting tourists with more dollars than sense.”

 

And he was right. Ben watched, fascinated, as a young couple came in arm in arm, oohing and ahhing over various trinkets. From the adoring looks they exchanged, he guessed they were probably on their honeymoon. The shopkeeper practically drooled as the woman picked up a colorful scarf and showed it to her companion. He complimented her on her taste, and she visibly preened. If the young man expected to share a cabin that night, much less a bed, Ben thought, he’d better suck it up fast. 

 

Quinn appeared to have taken no notice. He wandered the store, occasionally picking up an item, only to return it with an indifferent shrug. Ben sidled over. “You seeing this?” he whispered.

 

A barely perceptible nod. But Ben could see the wheels turning. The woman was pressuring her companion to buy her the scarf, and he was starting to get a deer-in-the-headlights look. Ben was reminded of some of the uber-entitled students on campus. Poor schmuck.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn couldn’t help feeling sorry for the young man. His new bride was obviously accustomed to getting her own way, and had expensive tastes, besides. After a brief internal debate, he spoke quietly out of the side of his mouth. “Ben, go find something on the other side of the store, and get the salesman’s attention, there’s a good lad.”

 

Ben obediently headed for a display of statuary and other decorations, then rather imperiously called the shopkeeper over. Quinn casually meandered over to the young couple. 

 

“Pardon me for intruding,” he said politely, shuffling through the colorful items on display as he did so. “But I wonder if I might offer a word of advice?” The younger man looked a bit apprehensive, but nodded. “The scarf is quite attractive, but overpriced. It’s part of the local tourist trade, you see. Pay what’s on the tag and they’ll mark you as a chump.”

 

“But it’s so lovely,” the woman insisted, stroking the soft fabric. “I *want* it, Bobby. Please, sweetheart, buy it for me.” She fluttered her eyelashes at both men. Bobby’s resolve was crumbling before Quinn’s eyes. 

 

“Offer him a third of the asking price,” Quinn suggested. “He’ll wail and tear his hair, but he *will* bargain with you. Stand firm, and only come up in small increments. Trust me, I’ve had some experience with this kind of thing.”

 

“I… I don’t know,” Bobby said uncertainly, as his bride pouted. “It doesn’t seem quite… legal, somehow.”

 

“I assure you, it is both legal *and* expected,” Quinn affirmed. He glanced again at the price tag. “I’d not go more than half the asking price. Just my opinion.” 

 

Bobby’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Seriously?” Quinn gave him a short nod and an encouraging wink. “Um, okay, thanks.”

 

“And, ma’am, best not to appear too eager. Let yourself be *persuaded* to buy it. Good luck,” Quinn added with a smile, then moved away, teaching moment done.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben watched as the merchant bustled back to the counter to deal with the couple. Quinn had obviously offered them some negotiating pointers. The man could not resist “rescuing” someone in need.

 

Quinn approached from behind. “Find something?” he asked quietly. 

 

Ben focused on the doorway. “Did you educate them?” he teased.

 

“Hopefully,” Quinn said. “I’m afraid the young lady has champagne tastes on a beer budget. The poor sod.”

 

“It *was* a pretty scarf,” Ben remarked.

 

“It was,” Quinn agreed. “What have you found?”

 

Ben motioned unobtrusively to a folding wooden chess board with intricately hand-carved ivory and sandalwood pieces that stored inside. “What do you think?”

 

“Nice,” Quinn agreed, then checked the price tag. “Not bad,” he said judiciously, “but I believe we can do a bit better.”

 

“Sic ’em,” Ben urged. “Show ’em the master at work.” 

 

The seller appeared to enjoy the skirmish every bit as much as Quinn did. There was a good deal of hand waving and gesticulating on both sides, and more than one passerby stopped and stared before hurriedly moving on. Ben struggled to keep a straight face when Quinn gave the merchant a toothy smile while calling him a thoroughly profane name in Irish. Ben was physically dragged out of the store, not once but twice, only to have the little round man run after them, making conciliatory noises. After nearly a half hour of wrangling, they settled on a price and everyone shook hands as Ben happily took possession of his chess set.

 

They found the restaurant Peter had recommended and enjoyed an excellent dinner of fresh seafood caught that morning. A string band was playing on the veranda, and they carried their after-dinner drinks outside to listen and watch the sunset. There they found the young couple from the shop. A brightly wrapped package stuck out of the woman’s straw bag.

 

“Oh, Bobby, look, it’s that nice man from the shop,” she said, beckoning excitedly.

 

Quinn walked over to their table. “Looks like you got it,” he said, with a smile.

 

Bobby stood politely. “You were right, sir. He wanted to argue, but we stuck to our guns and got it for half price.”

 

“Well done!” Quinn applauded. “Excellent work, and quite a bargain. I hope you enjoy the scarf, and the rest of your trip.” He shook hands, then returned to the table where Ben was sitting.

 

“Cover yourself in glory?” Ben asked, grinning. 

 

Quinn gave a modest shrug. “Just tried to keep them from getting rooked. Although I’m guessing the young lady will have a bit more respect for her new husband going forward.”

 

“Oh, I *respect* you,” Ben laughed, patting the chess set at his feet. “But did I mention I’ve been playing chess since I was five?”

 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Quinn groaned. “I might have known there’d be a downside.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

They were enjoying the band and the couples dancing on the veranda, when a familiar dark-haired man approached out of the deepening shadows. “Evening, Ben. Nice to find you getting out to see the sights. Present me to your friend, won’t you?”

 

Ben coolly made introductions. “Quinn, this is Garth Mulner, a former classmate from college. Garth, this is Professor Quinn Donovan.”

 

“How do you do, Mr. Mulner?” Quinn asked politely. “Are you a passenger on the cruise ship?” 

 

“I am, yes,” Garth agreed. “I ran into Ben here the first night out. Haven’t seen each other in years. Looking real good, buddy.” He glanced at the bandstand, then back at Ben. “They’re not bad, huh? How about a dance? For old times’ sake?”

 

Before Ben could respond, Quinn leaned back in his chair with an easy smile. “Go on, lads. Enjoy yourselves.” Ben could have cheerfully strangled him on the spot. 

 

From the gleeful look on Garth’s face as they moved toward the dance floor, it hadn’t gone unnoticed, either. 

 

“C’mon, dude, it’s just a dance. Where’s the harm?” he said, pulling Ben into his arms.

 

“Quit it, Garth,” Ben warned. “I’m not kidding. Behave yourself, or I’m out of here.”

 

“Aw, what’s the matter, Benny? Afraid your hunky professor might get jealous? He looks pretty down with it to me.” He leaned in closer. “Maybe he *likes* watching you with other guys, huh? *Younger* guys?”

 

“Cut it out!” Ben said angrily. “You haven’t changed a bit, Garth. You’re still a sleaze.” He pushed away and stalked off the dance floor, fuming.

 

Garth followed him back to the table and smoothly apologized, saying he’d inadvertently stepped on Ben’s feet. Quinn seemed to accept his explanation, which only fueled Ben’s ire. He grabbed his drink and took a large swallow, somehow managing not to choke on it. Quinn raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Then, to Ben’s surprise, Garth turned to Quinn.

 

“Ben was just telling me what a great a dancer you are, Professor. I’d love the chance to find out for myself.” He gave Quinn a seductive smile.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Mulner, but I-” Quinn began.

 

“Oh, he’s a *wonderful* dancer, Garth! You should see him at the campus keggers. Go on, Quinn,” Ben said sweetly. “You love to dance, and my feet hurt.” He gestured toward the dance floor. “Have fun, you two. Don’t mind me.” Quinn shrugged and rose to his feet. 

 

Serves you right, Ben thought resentfully, as the two men moved away, making me dance with that jackass. See how *you* like it!

 

~*~*~*~

 

Just as they reached the dance floor, the music switched to something soft and slow, and Garth moved into Quinn’s arms. Quinn didn’t want to make a scene, so he simply guided them around the floor to the music and prayed it would be a short number. The younger man was practically plastered against his shirtfront, and his cologne was potent, to say the least. He was reminded of Xandra Criton. Apparently, the personality type was gender-neutral.

 

“Ben’s right,” Garth murmured. “You *are* a good dancer. Big and strong, but so light on your feet. Ben’s a lucky guy.”

 

“Thank you,” Quinn said politely, stiffening his hold to keep Garth at bay. He preferred ballroom dancing, where each partner had his or her defined personal space. Garth was practically climbing him like ivy on a tree. Poison ivy.

 

“You know, he said something to me earlier,” Garth went on, glancing over at the table, just as the waiter brought a fresh round of drinks. “He was talking about a threesome, know what I mean? We hung out with each other back in college, but we didn’t ‘hook up’ that way. Not that I wouldn’t have liked to. I mean, he was pretty hot stuff even back then.” He leered up at Quinn. “And so are you.”

 

“I’m sorry, but you must have misunderstood,” Quinn said firmly. “Neither of us engages in that sort of thing.” 

 

Garth was instantly contrite. “No, of course, I’m sure you’re right, Professor. I wasn’t suggesting… Sorry. But,” he glanced meaningfully over at Ben again. “I felt like I ought to say something.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve, seen him around the ship, checking out some of the other passengers. And the first night out, I saw him in the club and he was… well, let’s just say he was having a *really* good time.” Garth frowned sympathetically. “I can tell you really care about him, and I’d sure hate to see him get in over his head.”

 

The song ended and Quinn disengaged from Garth’s clingy hold. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Mulner, but I think it’s time to return to my table. Please excuse me.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

 

Ben was hunched over the table, his second glass already half-empty. The first had been nearly full when he had left to dance – *one* dance – with Garth. Quinn silently eyed the glass, and Ben defiantly took a large swallow, glaring balefully at him over the rim. Quinn sighed and pushed his own away. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked softly.

 

“Nothing,” Ben said, his words slightly slurred. “Enjoy yourself out there?”

 

“Not particularly,” Quinn replied evenly. “But I think we’ve both had enough excitement for one day. And *definitely* enough alcohol.” He reached for Ben’s drink, but Ben grabbed it, draining the contents in a single gulp. Quinn sighed. “C’mon, lad, let’s call it a night. Any more and you’re going to regret it in the morning. I’m tired, and the music is giving me a headache.” He stood and held out a hand to Ben. “Up with you, bucko.”

 

Ben scowled, then got to his feet, swaying slightly. Definitely time to go. Tucking the chess set under his arm, Quinn took Ben by the elbow and steered him toward the waiting launch. Ben half-heartedly tried to pull away, but subsided when Quinn tightened his grip and kept on walking.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben stumbled as Quinn pushed him none too gently through the cabin door. “Cut it out, damn it,” he muttered, weaving toward the neatly turned-down bed. “I’m not a child.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Quinn responded, moving to the closet. “So quit acting like one.” He unbuttoned his shirt and hung it up. “You’re rather an ugly drunk,” he added over his shoulder.

 

“Quinn,” Ben began, as he started to stand up, but the room swirled and he sat back down again. “Oh, boy.”

 

Quinn pulled his undershirt over his head. “Stay still,” he admonished, not bothering to turn around.

 

Ben took a deep breath and tried again. “I need to-”

 

“Throw up? Hardly surprising.”

 

“*No*, damn it! Garth-”

 

“What about him?”

 

“You were slow dancing with him! He was all *over* you!” Ben grabbed double handfuls of the bedspread, as much in frustration as to keep himself upright while the room spun. The short trip back from port on the launch hadn’t helped his already queasy stomach and head.

 

“Because *you* insisted that I dance with him,” Quinn pointed out. “Why was that, I wonder?”

 

“You made *me* dance with him first!” Ben retorted. “I don’t want anything to do with the jackass!”

 

“Oh, so now he’s a jackass,” Quinn said sarcastically. “And was he a jackass when you knew him before?”

 

“Yeah,” Ben muttered. “I just didn’t realize how *much* of one, until it was too late.” Another wave of nausea hit him and he groaned. “Oh, man.” So much for Valentine’s Day, he thought. All thoughts of a romantic evening involving a certain burgundy Speedo had vanished from his mind.

 

Then Quinn was at his side. “Let’s get you into the loo, before you hurl all over the cabin.” He half-carried Ben into the lavatory, then pushed him to his knees before the toilet. “Bow to the porcelain god, there’s a good lad.” 

 

Ben wanted to laugh, but his roiling stomach advised against it. Then he leaned forward and heaved miserably. When he was done, he sagged against the bowl, panting in exhaustion. Quinn laid a blessedly cool damp washcloth against the back of his neck, gently stroking his back and shoulders through his shirt. “Can ye stand?” he said quietly.

 

“I think so,” Ben whispered. Quinn helped him to his feet and he stood, unprotesting, as he was undressed. Quinn turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature to lukewarm. Ben obediently entered the stall. “Thanks,” he said weakly. 

 

Quinn nodded. “Your robe’s on the door,” he said, gathering up the stained clothing. Ben winced at the smell, and at the thought of Quinn having to deal with the clean-up.

 

He felt better after the shower. He was still a bit woozy from the alcohol, but at least his stomach had settled down. Some vacation, he thought sourly, as he brushed his teeth and gargled with mouthwash several times to rid himself of the taste of the vomit. Then he pulled on his green silk robe and re-entered the bedroom. His new chess set was on the dresser. There was no sign of the stained clothing, though the room smelled suspiciously of Febreeze. Quinn was reading in bed. Ben’s side was neatly turned down, his pillow plumped invitingly. Apparently   
he’d been forgiven.

 

Sitting down gingerly on the bed, Ben let the dressing gown slip off his shoulders. Quinn didn’t look up or comment as he slid into bed and wearily closed his eyes. 

 

After several minutes of not-quite-comfortable silence, Ben decided he owed Quinn an explanation. After the debacle with Owen last Thanksgiving, the two men had made a solemn pact not to go to bed angry. He spoke quietly. “Quinn?”

 

“Hmm?” came the absent reply. Whatever he was reading must have been pretty engrossing. 

 

“Quinn, I need to talk to you. It’s important. Please?” Ben kept his tone level, his voice soft.

 

“Aye?” 

 

“About tonight…” Ben began, feeling his way. “About Garth…”

 

“What about him?” Quinn asked, laying down his hardcover book. 

 

“He’s… he’s trouble. I know you had no way of knowing, but…”

 

“What kind of trouble?” Quinn asked, his expression neutral in the dim light of the bedside lamps. He was still wearing his reading glasses, looking over them at Ben lying next to him.

 

“I knew him back in college. I haven’t seen him since then, but… well, he’s bad news,” Ben stammered. Damn it, why was this so hard to talk about? 

 

Duh, he told himself. You’re about to tell the man you love that a former would-be date rapist is on board, all ready to pick up where he left off 15 years ago! He fought to keep his voice from shaking. “Stay away from him, okay?” It sounded pretty lame, even to him.

 

“I had no intention of doing otherwise,” Quinn replied evenly. “He seems a somewhat less-than-desirable consociate.” He reached out to touch Ben’s damp hair from the shower. “Why did he single you out this evening?”

 

Ben sighed. “Because he recognized me, and because he loves to stir things up, just for the hell of it. He’s a- a predator. Believe me, I know.” He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes again, fighting back the nausea as he recalled that awful night in the alley. Damn, he’d been drunk then, too. You’d think he’d learn.

 

Quinn’s voice was quiet and gentle, as if calming a frightened child. “Ben, you’ve nothing to worry about. I’m not about to let anything happen to you, you know that. Just ignore him and enjoy yourself. It’s a big ship.”

 

Ben badly wanted to let it go, but Quinn needed to know the whole story, no matter the consequences. “You don’t know him. He… he *preys* on people.” He felt himself flush, even as he edged closer to the memory. He groped for Quinn’s free hand, and Quinn pulled him into his arms. Ben sighed and sought the calming center of Quinn’s steady heartbeat. Nothing could harm him within that protective circle.

 

Except maybe Garth Mulner. And if he couldn’t get to Ben, he’d almost certainly try to get to Quinn. Reluctantly, he pushed back enough to be able to see the beloved bearded face. The blue eyes regarding him were kind. He took a deep breath. 

 

“Quinn, I need to tell you something, and it’s not going to be pretty. But you have to hear me out to the end. Promise me.”

 

Quinn nodded, and when Ben pulled free and rose from the bed, he made no move to stop him. 

 

“It was my freshman year…”

 

~*~*~*~

 

When he was finished, he felt drained, empty, numb. He’d never told a living soul about that night in the alley before now, fearing condemnation by friends and family alike. And even though his parents had largely accepted his and Quinn’s relationship, his brother Owen was still struggling with the idea that his younger brother was gay. 

 

Quinn hadn’t said a word throughout, letting him get it out in his own way. “Are you sure?” The voice from the bed was low, but Ben recognized the icy calm barely masking the fury underneath. “It was definitely him?”

 

Ben hung his head, ashamed. “Yeah. Quinn, I’m so sorry-”

 

“Why?” Flat, tightly controlled. Unreadable. 

 

“You went to all this trouble, the cruise, everything, and- and I-” Words failed, and he turned away.

 

Quinn rose and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Ben, the trip was my gift to you. To *us*. The odds of someone from either of our pasts being on board are… astronomical. I couldn’t compute them with an abacus.” 

 

Ben’s mouth quirked involuntarily at Quinn’s feeble attempt to cheer him. He’d have expected him to put his fist through the cabin wall, not make a joke. Reaching up, he grasped the hand and pulled the arm around him, leaning gratefully into the comfort of the broad chest. God, how he loved this man. Garth was so inferior to Quinn, there was no comparison.

 

After a long quiet moment, Quinn turned him to face him. “Don’t give him control over you, Ben,” he entreated. “Garth Mulner is one insufferable little cockroach, among hundreds of passengers on board. We’ll just make sure we don’t run into him again. But if we do, we’ll make it plain that you’re off the market. And *very* taken.” He stroked Ben’s hair. “I’ll take care of it. You just enjoy yourself.”

 

Ben leaned into the caress with a sigh. “Quinn, I love you, *only* you, and I would never – *never* – look to someone like Garth over you. Or anyone else, for that matter. You’re my world, my life, my- my everything.” 

 

“I believe you,” Quinn soothed. “Perhaps the fault is mine, for not more closely examining the situation.” He frowned. “We can’t very well ask the Captain to put Garth off the ship simply because he made a pass. And I’d hate to cut our trip short just to avoid him. It would only hand him the advantage.” 

 

Ben nodded mutely, eyes riveted on his lover’s face. 

 

Quinn gathered him into his arms and kissed his forehead. Ben leaned into the embrace, eyes closing in relief. Quinn believed him. That was all that mattered. Garth could go fuck himself. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn’s heart ached at the abject misery on Ben’s face. His poor lad had had his world turned upside down and inside out. Who could have foreseen that an old acquaintance would be on board ship, much less one with such an unsavory connection? Quinn’s guilt was rapidly morphing into anger, and he struggled for calm. Ben didn't need anything else spoiling his vacation.

 

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Ben stepped into his arms and held him tightly. Quinn sighed, and they stood together for a long moment. Then Ben spoke, his voice muffled into Quinn’s shirtfront. “I love you, Quinn. Nothing can change that. Promise.”

 

“I love you, too, Ben. Always.” 

 

Quinn’s voice was choked as he spoke into Ben’s soft hair, and he tightened his grip until Ben laughingly squeaked that he couldn’t breathe. Even then Quinn only released him enough to step away slightly. He was almost afraid to let go, lest the man he loved simply vanish into thin air, like a mirage.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben felt the depth of his lover’s emotion in the embrace, heard it in his voice, and reveled in it. Yes, he was owned, body and soul, and welcomed it. Quinn was his life. He never should have doubted the strength of Quinn’s love.

 

Easing back slightly, he studied his lover’s face, then reached up to stroke the bearded cheek. He loved Quinn’s lean and angular jawline, softened by the neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He’d seen Quinn’s undergraduate pictures, sans facial hair, and he’d looked somehow… incomplete. Dean Winters’ irritation over his “Bohemian” look was, in Quinn’s words, icing on the cake.

 

“Now,” Quinn said firmly, “we need to convince our good Mr. Mulner once and for all, that his attentions are *not* wanted.” The accented voice harshened into a low growl. “And tha’ if he persists, he be doin’ so at his own peril.”

 

Ben mentally shivered. Quinn had a fierce temper, but it usually took a lot to rip off its lid. Despite his rather intimidating physical presence, he was habitually soft-spoken, with impeccable Old World manners and mannerisms. The grim-faced man standing before him called to mind his Celtic ancestors, warriors who unhesitatingly laid down their lives for home, country and loved ones. It boded ill for Garth. 

 

But Ben was no clinging vine, no “damsel in distress.” Much as he loved Quinn and wanted his support, he’d not let him put himself in jeopardy because some old flame had tried to come back into their lives. “We’ll work it out, Quinn. Trust me, I know Garth. He’s a coward and a bully, and I’m not the same naïve chump I was back then. I know better now.” He pulled Quinn’s head down. “Why would I ever want *him* when I have you?”

 

Quinn’s hard kiss was all the answer he needed.

 

~*~*~*~

 

When they awoke the next morning, the ship had anchored off the white-sand beach Ben remembered from the brochure. Peter brought tea and fresh blueberry scones to their cabin, and informed them that launches would be available shortly after breakfast. 

 

Quinn sipped his tea. “Sleep well, love?” he asked Ben, who was still struggling to wake up. 

 

“Yeah, terrific,” Ben mumbled, around a huge yawn. Quinn handed him a scone. Ben bit into it, then grabbed for a napkin as warm butter ran down his chin. “Shit.” He mopped at his face, struggling not to drop the muffin. “Having a good time, Professor?”

 

Quinn nodded. “I am.” He finished his tea, then shifted the tray onto Ben’s lap. “I’ll grab a shower, then we can see about exploring that beach, all right?”

 

“Take your time,” Ben said, reaching for another scone. “I’m going to enjoy breakfast in bed. That shower’s way too small for both of us.”

 

Quinn smiled as he headed for the bathroom. A few minutes later, Ben heard him whistling over the running water. It made him grin.

 

They joined several other passengers on a launch that took them to a secluded cove. The crewman piloting the boat informed them that he would return shortly before sunset and wished them a pleasant outing. Should they wish to return earlier, they could call the ship’s switchboard. 

 

The scenery was breathtaking, the woods beyond the beach full of birdsong. Ben could see Quinn’s scientific mind automatically cataloging the flora and fauna. He himself was enthralled with the turquoise water beyond the white sand. You could see the bottom for yards out into the water. Peter had said the snorkeling was excellent, and Ben looked forward to giving it a try.

 

Shoes in hand, he and Quinn strolled barefoot through the warm sand. Ben still felt more than a little self-conscious, but didn’t pull away when Quinn took his hand in his. Quinn seemed very relaxed, pointing out various plants and flowers as they walked into the forest, and Ben paid close attention, happy to watch his lover in his natural element. 

 

The trees were huge, and their canopy nearly blocked out the sunlight. Ben knew they were a long way from any actual rain forest, but it was quite a change from their New England urban home. They could hear birds and monkeys overhead, and even caught a fleeting glimpse once or twice. A large snake raised its head from a low-hanging limb as they passed by. It made Ben a bit uneasy, but Quinn assured him it was a non-poisonous species, and no threat to their safety. He used Ben’s smartphone to take a picture of it for Ani, who had recently become enamored of all things reptilian. Ben made a note to send one to Luke as well.

 

By now they had separated from the rest of the passengers, and found themselves quite alone. A clearing surrounded by several large trees made a picturesque spot to eat the box lunches the ship had provided. Quinn pointed out an inquisitive capuchin monkey a few yards away, obviously drawn to the smell of the food. He tossed an orange section in its direction and it darted forward to grab the treat. Ben watched as it devoured the orange in a few bites, then licked the juice from its paws. Predictably, it returned, chittering at the two men, as if to demand more. Ben threw it another piece and, to his delight, the monkey caught it in his paws and crammed it into his mouth. 

 

“Isn’t he amazing?” Ben whispered to Quinn, who was leaning back against a tree trunk. “He doesn’t even seem to be scared of us.”

 

Quinn nodded. “I imagine they see a lot of humans around here, from the cruise ships. They know to expect food.” He handed Ben the rest of his orange. “Go ahead, see if you can get it to come closer.”

 

The monkey accepted the last piece of fruit from only a few feet away. Quinn took several pictures. Ben was enchanted with the small furry creature. When it sensed no more food was forthcoming, the ape abandoned them with a flip of its tensile tail.

 

Ben leaned back against Quinn’s chest, enjoying the natural beauty of the spot. He felt Quinn’s arm comfortably around him, and reached up for a kiss. “This is fantastic,” he said softly, staring into Quinn’s deep blue eyes. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome, my bonny love,” Quinn said, with a smile. “I’m glad you like your present.”

 

“Mmm,” Ben said, reaching into the lunch box and pulling out a chocolate bar. “Want some? Not Valentine’s without chocolate, right?” He unwrapped one end and broke off a piece, holding it up. Quinn lipped it from his fingers, and Ben sighed happily at the intimate gesture. He put a piece in his own mouth, then pulled Quinn’s head down for a kiss. Their tongues twined around each other, and Ben tasted their lunch, sweetened by the chocolate. It was a heady feeling, making out quite literally in the open. 

 

He sat up and slowly turned to face his semi-reclining lover, whose blue eyes were hooded in the deep shadows of the leaves overhead. He reminded Ben of a pagan nature god, lord of all he surveyed. Ben shifted until he was straddling Quinn’s thighs, and leaned forward to gently stroke the bearded face. Quinn smiled lazily up at him, then turned his head to kiss Ben’s fingers. He reached out and drew Ben close, their lips meeting in another long kiss. 

 

Ben could feel his temperature rising, and it wasn’t because of the tropical sun. Quinn, too, seemed to be sweating slightly, his breath coming a little faster. He reached for one of the bottled wine coolers from the box lunches. Taking a swig, he handed it to Ben, who drank thirstily. Then he reached for the buttons on Quinn’s shirt, wanting to feel the warm skin under his hands. Quinn made no protest, as he lazily stroked Ben’s thigh through his cargo shorts, then let his fingers slip inside the loose-fitting pants. Ben hummed deep in his throat as he caressed the lightly furred chest and leaned in to nuzzle around the erect nipples. Quinn groaned appreciatively, shifting slightly to give them both room to maneuver. Ben nipped and nuzzled his chest and stomach, kneading the tight abdominal muscles and spreading his palms flat along the rib cage and tapering waistline. He could feel Quinn’s simmering arousal through his twill slacks, and savored the intimacy of the moment. Ben’s own erection was making its presence known as well, and he boldly guided Quinn’s free hand to it.

 

Quinn undid the fastenings on Ben’s shorts and drew out his penis, running his fingers and palm from end to end, heightening Ben’s pleasure. When Ben attempted to reciprocate, Quinn shook his head and gently rolled him over onto his back, sliding up and over him and propping himself up on his elbows. Ben licked his lips in anticipation. “Want you,” he whispered huskily, and was rewarded with another hard, almost brutal kiss.

 

“I’m here, m’love,” Quinn answered him hoarsely. “Lie back and let me love ye, yeah?” 

 

Without waiting for an answer, he opened Ben’s shirt all the way down, then began a leisurely trek down his body, starting at his face and neck. Ben arched his back at the feel of lips, fingers and hot skin on skin, eyes closing as he drifted on a cloud of pure sensation. He could feel Quinn’s arousal against his leg, but the older man seemed intent on pleasuring him, at least for now. Quinn habitually put his partner’s needs above his own.

 

Ben gasped softly as he felt Quinn’s hot mouth around his groin, licking and nipping softly, before taking him in, nearly to the root. He sucked slowly at first, then more purposefully as Ben began to writhe, pulling his hips up and sliding his hands under him to hold him in place. The big blunt fingers were instruments of tortuous pleasure as they squeezed his butt cheeks and tickled his hip bones. Ben grabbed for the tree root beside him, bracing himself against the sensual onslaught, and gave himself over to Quinn’s control. When his climax hit, he felt the earth move.

 

Then he was gathered into a strong embrace, and lay contentedly across Quinn’s chest, fingers twining in the sparse chest hair. Their mutual sighs echoed through the woods. 

 

Once he recovered the ability to think clearly, Ben leaned back and contemplated his lover. “You’re incredible,” he said tenderly.

 

“I am?” Quinn asked rhetorically. “How so?” 

 

Ben leaned back into the embrace again and allowed his free hand to stretch down and grasp the hot length inside Quinn’s pants. “Too many ways to count right now.” He squeezed gently and Quinn involuntarily shivered. “Your turn.”

 

But Quinn shook his head again. “This was for you,” he said softly. 

 

“Who’s keeping score?” Ben said, with a laugh. “Why won’t you let me-”

 

“A wee bit too public,” Quinn rumbled. “I can wait.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Besides, ye’d not be wantin’ us to be fallin’ asleep and miss the boat back. Fine thing that’d be to explain.”

 

Ben grinned. Apparently, it was acceptable for Quinn to “molest” him in a semi-public setting, but not the other way around. Go figure. “Okay,” he sighed, “but tonight’s on me.”

 

“I look forward to it,” Quinn answered, pulling him close and nuzzling into his hair.

 

Ben was as good as his word, loving Quinn into a puddle of exhausted goo that night in their cabin. They fell asleep wrapped tightly in each other’s arms.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Next morning, they joined some other passengers for a shuffleboard tournament, then visited the on-board gym and took advantage of the sauna. It felt good to loll back along the wooden benches and doze. Afterward, Quinn chose to catch up on his book. Ben tried to relax on one of the deck chairs next to him, but quickly grew restless and opted for a stroll around the ship. Quinn nodded absently as he said he’d be back in a while, already absorbed in his reading material. 

 

Ben rambled over the decks, gazing out over the ocean and watching the other passengers. The pool beckoned and he decided to go for a swim. Grabbing a towel from the bathroom, he slipped into a pair of flip-flops and a t-shirt over his swim trunks. A few laps would help him work up an appetite for the seafood buffet on tonight’s menu.

 

He was a little taken aback that several of the passengers seemed to be openly cavorting with other than those with whom they’d arrived. He managed to evade several attempts to engage him in conversation. One older woman was particularly aggressive in her attentions. It was clear that she saw him as a potential “boy toy.” Adele would never have demeaned herself – or him -- by such predatory behavior toward a total stranger. In fact, Ben had little doubt the petite Parisienne would have sat the other woman down and explained in excruciating detail the error of her ways. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

The gong sounded for the first dinner seating, and people began to head for their cabins to dress. The sun was going down and the ocean air was growing chilly. There was talk of a front coming in. Ben was pleasantly tired from his swimming, and more than ready to find Quinn and have a good meal. Lunch had been pretty light.

 

He had just reached the stairs, when a familiar voice came from behind him. “Glad to see you coming up for air, buddy.”

 

Shit. “Garth, are you following me?”

 

The black-haired man grinned. “Seems to me it’s the other way around. Every time I turn around, you’re there. *Alone*,” he added meaningfully. “Man, don’t you wonder why he brought you here? This place is *swarming* with cute guys and gals, and any one of them would love to crawl between the sheets with your steamy professor. How do you know he isn’t looking for a little variety? Huh? A little spicing up of the old sex life?”

 

Ben struggled to keep his temper. “It’s really none of your business, Garth. Besides, not everyone is as… as casual as you.”

 

“Benny, Benny, I’m just thinking of you, buddy! I’ve been watching you guys since you came on board. And you know what? When he thinks you’re not paying attention, he’s been checking out a *lot* of tight butts in Speedos. Bikinis, too. And he could have his pick, man.” Garth shook his head. “You’d better keep an eye on him.”

 

“You’re crazy, Garth. He’s a college professor, a *department chairman*, for crying out loud. He’s used to having passes made at him. Believe me, he can handle it.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Garth said easily. “Just warning you. Friend to friend, right?”

 

“You and I are *not* friends, Garth. We stopped being friends the night you tried to rape me in that alley. You’re damned lucky I didn’t call the police and have you arrested for assault. Sometimes I still wish I had.”

 

“Really? Funny, that’s not the way I remember it,” Garth drawled, leaning back against the railing and taking a long drag on his cigarette. “I remember an attractive geeky young man who was begging for a little action. Too bad you weren’t grown-up enough to see it through. But I guess Professor Sugar Daddy’s more your style.”

 

“Go fuck yourself, Garth! Quinn’s a *hundred* times the man you’ll ever be! And he doesn’t have to stoop to your kind of low-down, sordid…” He couldn’t think of anything bad enough to describe the loathing he still felt every time he thought of that night.

 

“Suit yourself.” Garth shrugged, unfazed. “Just warning ya. Lots of things can happen on cruises like this. Hope you don’t get burned.” 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben jerked the cabin door open, unable to contain his frustration over the encounter with Garth. Hoping for a sympathetic ear and a shoulder on which to vent, he was disappointed to find the cabin empty. Surely Quinn hadn’t gone to dinner without him? 

 

Ben grabbed a quick shower, then changed into slacks and a sports jacket. Quinn still hadn’t returned, so he figured he’d better go looking for him. The last thing they needed was for Garth to conveniently “run into” the older man and make trouble. Tucking his key card into his pocket, he headed out the door.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Sunset had given way to a crystal clear night, with millions of stars. Quinn had been delighted to accept First Officer Cordoba’s invitation to join him on the bridge for an astronavigation lesson. He’d left a note on the dresser for Ben, who had been gone most of the afternoon. From the mess in the bathroom, it appeared he’d gone for a swim, then come back and changed clothes and left again. Quinn wasn’t the suspicious type, and he trusted his young lover implicitly. Let the lad enjoy himself. They were on vacation.

 

Cordoba explained the sextant’s workings, and Quinn was able to pick out the various constellations and charting points in short order. A mutual love of travel gave them plenty to talk about, and the pleasant evening passed swiftly. He looked forward to sharing the experience with Ben back in their cabin. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben had covered two decks in their entirety, without any sign of Quinn. He’d checked the on-board library, the smoking room, the surround-sound theatre, even the gym. No Quinn. One or two of the passengers had tried to engage him in conversation, but he had politely begged off, anxious to find his missing lover.

 

Then, to his dismay, he turned a corner and ran into Garth, with an older man who appeared more than a little intoxicated. He wove unsteadily on his feet, and Garth had an arm around his waist. 

 

He grinned when he saw Ben. “Hey, buddy. Care to join us?”

 

“No, thanks,” Ben said hastily. “I was just looking for Quinn.”

 

“I think I saw him up on the bridge.” Garth hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back that way.” He started past Ben with his companion, then added, sotto voce, “He looked like he was having a *really* good time up there, if you get my meaning. Sure you don’t want to stay down here with us?”

 

Ben glared. “No, thanks,” he said again. “You look like you’ve got enough on your plate already.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Garth gave a nasty laugh, and turned back to his well-oiled companion. “C’mon, handsome, the cabin’s this way.” He tugged on the other man and guided him down the hall.

 

Ben shook his head as he watched them go. He could well imagine what lay in store. He headed toward the stairs leading up to the bridge. 

 

A soft laugh overhead caught his attention. Following the sound, he saw a uniformed officer and an achingly familiar broad-shouldered man in a sports jacket. Their backs were turned, and they were leaning forward, heads close together, speaking in hushed tones. It looked very… intimate, and he heard again Garth’s warning to stay away. He didn’t want to believe that Quinn would cheat on him, but they did look terribly… cozy, somehow. He fought the urge to charge up the stairs. As he watched, he heard Quinn laugh again, then a broad hand reached out and clapped the officer familiarly on the shoulder. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben stumbled back to their cabin, wanting only to lose himself in slumber and wake up to find the whole trip was a bad dream. He fumbled with the key card, and opened the door.

 

Peter was turning down the bed. “Good evening, Mr. Kensington,” he said, with a broad smile. “Enjoying yourself?”

 

Ben mumbled something in vague reply and headed for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He splashed water on his face and contemplated his reflection. He looked awful. And felt worse. Damn Garth, damn Quinn, and damn the whole bloody fucking *ship*! 

 

When he came back out, Peter was busying himself tidying up the room. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem… disturbed, sir. Is everything alright?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Peter, thanks,” Ben muttered. “Just tired.”

 

“I understand,” Peter commiserated. “But it’s early; perhaps you’d like some company for a while before turning in?” He seemed to almost… slither… in his tight uniform pants and blinding white uniform shirt. “I could bring us some brandy, or… something else.”

 

Someone else in the same situation might have been tempted to take advantage of the opportunity for – what did they call it? Revenge sex? But Ben felt no desire for the handsome steward. “Thanks, Peter, but I’ll pass.”

 

Peter moved closer. “Are you sure? I can make you feel better in any number of ways… sir,” he whispered, reaching out to gently stroke Ben’s arm through his shirt sleeve. “We want our passengers to feel well cared for.”

 

Ben pushed his hand away. “I said *no*, Peter. You’re a nice guy, but I’m *not* interested. Get it?”

 

Peter’s smiling face was now inches from Ben’s. “I’m sorry you’re not having a good time. That’s just not allowed around here.” He grabbed Ben’s shoulders and pulled him to him, crushing his mouth in a bruising kiss. Ben was too stunned to react.

 

Then, to his horror, he heard a deep voice behind him. “Excuse me for intruding, gentlemen.” 

 

Ben shoved Peter away and whirled around to see Quinn’s blue eyes widen in pained surprise. Then his face shuttered and he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. “Quinn! *Wait*!” he cried, heading for the door. When Peter tried to reach for him again, Ben grabbed the book from the bedside table and brandished it like a weapon. Peter backed away, even as Ben fled the cabin in pursuit of Quinn.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn whistled happily as he headed back from the bridge to his and Ben’s cabin. He had thoroughly enjoyed his astronavigation lesson with Officer Cordoba, an engaging and personable man, who clearly loved his job every bit as much as Quinn loved his own. He was already planning to buy a telescope when they got back home, so as to expand on his beginner’s knowledge of the stars and constellations. Hopefully, he’d be able to share his new interest with Ben. After all, a good deal of the actual navigation of the big cruise ship was computerized nowadays.

 

His pleasure was dampened a bit when he ran into Garth Mulner on the stairs, but he managed to nod politely to the black-haired man. Then Mulner reached out to stop him as he passed.

 

“Professor,” he said, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers, “If you’re headed back to your cabin, you might want to… hold off a while.”

 

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Mulner,” he said stiffly. 

 

“Just thought you might want to go get a drink at the bar or something,” Garth said, with a shrug. 

 

“Thank you, no,” Quinn replied. “Some other time, perhaps.” He started past again, but Garth blocked his path.

 

“I understand, Professor, but… well, see, it’s probably not a real good idea to go there… just yet.” He oozed sympathetic apprehension. 

 

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Quinn said firmly. “Good night, Mr. Mulner.” He moved purposefully down the hall, long legs working to his advantage. 

 

Behind him, he heard Garth call softly, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

Quinn reached the cabin door, and inserted his card key. He entered quietly, in case Ben was already in bed. And froze in the doorway.

 

Ben was locked in their steward’s embrace, their mouths clamped together. His back was to the door, but Quinn could clearly see Bartholomew’s arms around Ben’s waist. He must have made some involuntary sound of surprise, because the steward’s eyes flashed open over Ben’s shoulder with an odd mixture of triumph and embarrassment. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, and Ben’s hung loosely at his sides. Clearly, he had interrupted an intimate moment.

 

“Excuse me for intruding,” he heard himself say, as he struggled to process the scene before him. Ben jerked away from the other man’s arms with an inarticulate sound. Quinn didn’t wait to hear anything more, but backed out of the room as fast as he could.

 

He fled down the hallway, pursued by demons of his own making.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben scoured the ship for any sign of Quinn, but it was if he had vanished into thin air. 

 

Bad enough he’d allowed Garth to make him think, for even a moment, that Quinn might be two-timing him with the handsome First Officer. Quinn was far too honorable to lower himself to that kind of depravity. Ben *knew* better! 

 

Of course, the fact that Quinn had not been there for Ben to yell at when he got to the cabin had only made things worse. But why would he have expected him to be there? They’d enjoyed the majority of their time together during the cruise, but they weren’t Siamese twins. Their individual interests did occasionally take them briefly away from each other. They trusted each other implicitly. It was one of the things Ben cherished most about their relationship. Quinn had never given him reason to question his fidelity, not even with Adele. So why had he let himself believe that anything untoward was happening on the bridge?

 

But the scene in the cabin was a thousand times worse. Peter’s openly flirtatious manner had amused both men from the beginning, but nothing more. Ben certainly had never had any desire to pursue any kind of intimacy with the handsome steward. It seemed just another funny anecdote to share with their friends when they got back. 

 

Wasn’t it? 

 

Had he somehow given Peter the impression that he was interested? 

 

He was reminded again of that awful night in college, when Garth had tried to molest him in the alleyway. And he couldn’t even blame tonight on being intoxicated.

 

The look on Quinn’s face… the stunned disbelief, the hurt. Then something had… died… in the beautiful blue eyes, as he’d murmured an apology and quietly closed the door behind him. It had been, quite literally, a kick in the balls. He hadn’t deserved that, no matter what he and that gorgeous ship’s officer might have done. 

 

He *had* to find Quinn, before it was too late. 

 

A helpful crewman directed Ben to one of the upper decks. He found Quinn leaning against the railing, staring out at the waves. Seagulls cawed and swooped overhead in the pre-dawn, but the older man seemed oblivious. Taking a deep breath, Ben quietly approached. 

 

“Quinn?” 

 

No response. 

 

He tried again. “Quinn, talk to me, please-”

 

Quinn spoke through clenched teeth, eyes never leaving the horizon. “Walk away, Ben. *Now*.” 

 

He was gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles were white. Ben thought it might leave a permanent imprint in the glossy wood. The injustice of the whole situation, complicated by his own guilt, made him ignore the warning signs. 

 

“Just like that?” he challenged, deliberately stepping into his lover’s personal space. “Just ‘walk away’? Not even a please? Bad form, old man,” he sneered, his face now inches away from Quinn’s.

 

Quinn took a deep breath, but didn’t look at him. “Very well. *Please* walk away.” 

 

“Hell, no!” Ben threw back at him. “We need to talk about this, and there’s nowhere either of us can go on this tub, so we might as well get it out here and now, damn it.” He wasn’t going to be bullied into submission, nor would he allow Quinn to stew. “You *owe* me a chance to defend myself. Quinn, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t *do* this. Talk to me. Let me in, please.”

 

Quinn’s shoulders abruptly sagged. He looked… old. Tired. Defeated. He spoke barely above a whisper, and Ben had to lean in to hear him over the breeze across the decking. “I canna talk about this yet, Ben. If ye insist on a confrontation, I promise ye it will end… badly.” It seemed a supreme effort to even get the words out.

 

Ben reached for Quinn’s hand on the rail, but it was jerked away, as if burnt by his touch. Then, drawing himself up to his full impressive height, Quinn turned and strode away without a backward glance.

 

“Hate to say I told you so,” came the silky voice behind him. 

 

“Get lost, Garth,” Ben growled, watching Quinn’s retreating form. “I don’t want to talk to you, now or ever again.”

 

Garth chuckled darkly. “Not my fault, Benjy. I tried to warn you. I’ve seen it a thousand times. He was never going to stick with you. But, hey, stop kicking yourself. You’re surrounded by acres of gorgeous *young* men and women who’d just love to… console you.” He slipped an arm around Ben’s waist. “C’mon, babe, he’s history. Let your old buddy show you what you’ve been missing.”

 

Ben spun around, knocking the offending limb away. “Go to hell, Garth. If you come near me or Quinn again, I’ll have you arrested. Maybe you’d prefer the brig to your cabin for the rest of the cruise!” It was all he could do to keep from smashing the raven-haired man’s grinning face with his fists. It would have felt good.

 

“My, my, my,” Garth said mockingly. “Temper, temper, Ben. Just trying to help out an old friend.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn blindly wandered the ship, somehow managing to avoid physically running into the other passengers and crew. He wanted to crawl into a dark corner and howl like a wounded animal. 

 

The whole situation was his fault. He never should have brought Ben on the cruise. He’d set himself up, set them *both* up, for exactly what had happened. Had he subconsciously been looking to test Ben’s love, his loyalty? He picked at the thought like a partially healed scab, reliving that awful moment when he’d walked into their cabin to find the steward and a half-naked Ben in each other’s arms, mouths devouring each other. He’d turned his back for one evening and Ben had wasted no time finding other, *younger* amusements. The pain clawed at him until he could almost feel the blood running out of his heart.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Garth leaned over the rail and contemplated the storm clouds pushing toward them. “You’re still so naïve, Ben. Don’t you get it? He was never going to stay with you.” There was a pause, then, so quietly Ben almost didn’t hear, “They never do.”

 

“What would you know about it?” Ben jeered, not looking at him. “You were always the one walking away. No commitments, you said. Well, you’re wrong. Maybe it works that way in *your* world, but not in mine.” 

 

“Oh, yeah?” Garth challenged. “*Look* at you! Moping like a little baby because the old man got upset when you and that steward got it on.” He leaned in confidentially. “I *tried* to help you, tried to tell him to stay away. I knew he wouldn’t understand.” 

 

His smug grin made Ben sick to his stomach. Then Garth’s words echoed in his head: when you and that steward- He turned. “How the hell did you know…” he said slowly.

 

Something flickered in Garth’s eyes, then was gone. “Oh, well, it wasn’t hard to figure out. The way you two have been eyeing each other the whole trip? Anyone could see it was just a matter of time.” He shook his head. “You need to be a lot smarter about those things, Benny boy. Keep it on the down low, if you get my meaning. But you’ll learn. And you’ve got plenty of time, now that the old man’s out of your life.”

 

Ben stared at his former classmate, mind whirling as he tried to process what he was hearing. Then it all came together. “It was *you*.” His tongue felt too thick for his mouth. “You bastard. You set me up. Again.” And I fell for it. Again, he added to himself, with a sickening certainty. 

 

Garth shrugged. “Shit happens, buddy. But you’re free now. He’s gone, and good riddance. I did you a favor, you know. He’s *old*, kid. Who cares how much money he’s got when you have to work so damned hard to earn it, am I right? And it would only have gotten worse. Wait until he starts blaming you when *he* can’t get it up. All *your* fault, of course.” The tone was casual, but the dark eyes were bitter. 

 

Ben’s temper flared. “You arrogant son of a bitch. You *would* think that way, wouldn’t you? Quinn’s not- he-” He couldn’t find the words, couldn’t think clearly through the red haze clouding his mind. 

 

“Oh, really?” Garth taunted. “Ben, he’s old enough to be your father! Why do you think they call them sugar *daddies*, you fucking idiot?” 

 

Ben heard the words, and a small part of him reluctantly acknowledged the truth behind them. Quinn *was* older than him, seventeen years older. But to imply that Ben had “latched” onto him to purposely bleed him dry… 

 

“The guy’s already got a fucking *cane*. Soon it’ll be a walker, or maybe even a wheelchair. That gray in his hair might look sexy now, but wait until the thought of touching that saggy body makes you want to throw up. When you have to pump *both* of you full of Viagra – or worse – just to have sex. You wanna change his adult diapers, or wipe the drool off his chin? Shit, man! Grab your dick and move on! Trust me, it’s the only way.”

 

“I’m not like you, Garth,” Ben insisted. “I never was,” he added, desperate to convince himself as much as the other man.

 

Garth sneered. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy. You’re no better than me. You’re his bitch. And you’ll keep crawling back to him, and let him work you over. See if his money’s enough for-”

 

The punch landed squarely on Garth’s nose. The next one connected with his ribcage, and the two men grappled with each other. Garth got in a few hits of his own, but Ben hardly felt them. No one maligned Quinn Donovan in his hearing, especially this smug, self-serving con artist who had made Ben doubt his own self-worth for years. 

 

Thunder and lightning around the ship seemed to echo Ben’s fury. Rain began to splatter the decks as the two men continued to exchange blows. Down below, passengers scurried for the safety of their cabins, as the crew called anxiously for those in the swimming pool to get out of the water.

 

“You’ll never learn,” Garth huffed through swollen lips, as he struggled to free himself from Ben’s two-handed grip. “You’re a wimp, Benny. A loser. You still believe in happily ever after. They’re not princes, you idiot. They’re all fucking frogs.”

 

“Go to hell, Garth,” Ben panted. “You made your choices, but they’re not mine.” The clout glanced off Garth’s shoulder. “You’re jealous. You can’t stand the thought of anyone else being happy, when you’re miserable.” He grunted as Garth’s punch landed on the side of his jaw. He tasted blood in his mouth. “You’ll never change. Stay the *hell* out of my life!”

 

Rainfall and blood were making the deck slippery under their feet. Garth was taller and heavier, which gave him a bit of an advantage, but Ben was holding his own. He shoved as hard as he could against the other man’s chest, but Garth grabbed him around the waist as they slammed into the railing. Then Ben felt himself being hoisted into the air and instinctively reached out for any means of support. The fabric of Garth’s shirt tore in his hands, and he heard a shout as he felt himself falling…

 

~*~*~*~

 

The storm rocked the ship like a baby in a cradle. Ship personnel stumbled around the decks, trying to herd foolhardy passengers to their cabins. Quinn ignored the commotion around him. He knew he should seek shelter, but couldn’t stomach going back to the cabin. Not after-

 

There was a panicked scream and he instinctively looked up, just in time to see two figures falling from an upper deck…

 

“*MAN OVERBOARD*!”

 

~*~*~*~ 

 

Ben struggled to the surface of the swimming pool. He heard Garth gasping for air beside him. It gave him a savage pleasure to see blood staining the turquoise water. No matter that a good part of it was probably his own.

 

“You thorry thack of thit,” Garth lisped through swollen lips and what was hopefully a broken nose. “You’ll be thorry, you bathard-” 

 

Anything else was cut off as Ben shoved his head back under the water. He winced as Garth’s foot caught him in the upper thigh, narrowly missing his groin. They continued to struggle, the churning waters making their efforts largely ineffectual.

 

There was a splash and a pair of strong arms was hauling him to the surface and away from his antagonist. He sucked in air as he was half-carried toward the shallow end of the pool. Garth was similarly being towed to safety.

 

“Take it easy, sir,” the crewman holding him cautioned. “We need to get you out of the pool. Hang on, nearly there.”

 

“’M okay,” Ben slurred. “Just… pissed.”

 

“Yes, sir,” the man said respectfully. He draped a blanket over him, and led him to a convenient overhang to check him for injuries. A cloth gently wiped away the blood from his injured mouth. 

 

“*BEN*!” Quinn ran across the deck. “Oh, my God, Ben, *talk* to me. Are you hurt? I saw you go over the side-” He turned to the uniformed man. “Is he all right?”

 

“No serious injuries that we can find, sir,” the crewman assured him. “He was very lucky. They both were.” 

 

Ben clung to the blanket and relished his lover’s strong arms about him. Quinn was holding him so tightly he could barely breathe. He could feel the big hands briskly rubbing circulation back into his arms, and struggled against the shudders racking his body. He felt vibrantly, vitally alive.

 

Quinn’s anxious voice was warm in his ear. “Be ye sure ye’re alright? My God, Ben, I nearly lost ye.” The blue eyes were as stormy as the slowly dissipating clouds overhead. Ben leaned into him, soaking up his body heat, and tried to smile through chattering teeth. 

 

“I’m okay, Quinn, honest. A hot shower will fix me right up, I promise.” He gingerly touched the darkening bruise on his cheek. “Well, I might have to eat baby food for a few days.” He tried to reach out, but Quinn shoved his hands back inside the blanket and began rubbing even more vigorously. 

 

“What happened to Garth?” Ben asked suddenly. He glanced around, trying to find his opponent.

 

Quinn barked out a bitter laugh. “Oh, they fished him out, the lucky blighter. I’d have thrown his smarmy ass over the side for shark bait. He’s over there.” 

 

Garth was similarly wrapped in a blanket, an oxygen mask over his face. Even with the black hair plastered to his face and neck, Ben could see the beginnings of a shiner. He looked awful, and Ben felt a wave of gratification, even though he knew he was probably at least as bad. He pulled Quinn’s arms tighter around him, hugging them to himself.

 

“I love you,” he breathed into Quinn’s ear, and felt the broad chest heave as a gusty sigh escaped the bearded lips. 

 

“Are ye sure ye’re okay?” Quinn said softly. The tone was deadly serious.

 

Ben smiled reassuringly, even as his sore jaw protested. “I’m fine, love. *We’re* fine.”

 

Quinn turned Ben to face him. “If ye ever pull a stupid stunt like that again-”

 

Ben snickered. “What? I was just defending your honor. I couldn’t let him get away with insulting you, did you?”

 

Quinn blinked. “Insultin’ *me*? Sorry, not followin’.”

 

“The asswipe accused you of coming on this trip to find a better deal; I think ‘trade up’ was the way he put it. So of course, I told him he was a fucking liar, and punched his lights out.” Quinn’s face suffused with anger and Ben cupped his head in both hands, pulling him down for a long kiss. “Don’t blow a gasket, love. I took care of it.”

 

“Ye dinna believe that feckin’ codswallop, did ye?” Quinn demanded.

 

“Of course not,” Ben assured him, kissing him again. “Any more than *you* believed I came on this trip looking for a new ‘sugar daddy.’” 

 

Quinn glared over at Garth, now being led down to Sickbay. “Bugger him.”

 

Ben snuggled into Quinn’s embrace, blanket and all. “Don’t you dare! He’d enjoy it way too much. And then I’d have to punch *your* lights out.” 

 

First Officer Córdoba approached, a rain slicker over his uniform. “Professor Donovan, is Mr. Kensington all right? Dr. Maddox can meet you in the sickbay as soon as he’s finished examining Mr. Mulner. I think he may have a couple of cracked ribs, at the very least.” He turned to Ben, equal parts concern and grudging admiration mingling on his handsome face. “You were very lucky, Mr. Kensington. Shall we get you inside?”

 

Quinn nodded. “Thank you, Manuel. He says he’s unhurt, but I’d appreciate it if the doctor could confirm.” Ben started to protest, but Quinn held up a hand. “No, Ben, you’ll do as you’re told, for once in your misbegotten life.”

 

“This way, gentlemen,” Officer Córdoba said with a smile, and they followed him to the elevator.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Cordoba escorted them back to their cabin, promising to return with incident report forms. He extended the cruise line’s apologies for their troubles, and cautiously asked if they intended to press charges. Quinn said he’d get back to him once things calmed down a bit, and Córdoba assured him the matter would be thoroughly investigated. Then he departed, reminding Ben that Dr. Maddox would be expecting him in Sickbay.

 

Quinn quickly got Ben undressed and into a hot shower. It felt good, though he would have preferred to have had Quinn in the stall with him. The instant he turned off the water, Quinn was there, wrapping him up in a thirsty bath sheet. Ben allowed Quinn to fuss over him, knowing it would help ease his anxiety. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he longed to climb into bed and feel Quinn’s arms around him as he slept. Quinn phoned the doctor, who agreed to come to them, so that Ben could stay put.

 

“Looks like you got off pretty lightly, Mr. Kensington,” Dr. Maddox told him, handing him some pain meds and a precautionary antibiotic. “Nothing appears to be broken, but you might want to visit your dentist when you get back, to be sure you didn’t knock anything loose in there. Stick to soft foods for the next few days, and plenty of liquids, so you don’t get dehydrated.”

 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Quinn said, walking him to the door. “I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on him.”

 

“Good night, gentlemen.” The door closed softly behind him.

 

Ben laid back on the pillows. “Told you,” he said, wincing as his sore jaw protested. “I’m fine.”

 

“Ye’re feckin’ coyote ugly, is what ye are,” Quinn said sternly. “Canna imagine what people will think when we get back.”

 

“At least I made the other guy look worse,” Ben retorted. 

 

“You did, at that,” Quinn agreed. He slid into bed and Ben snuggled into his arms, trying to get comfortable around aching muscles. He knew he was going to have some colorful reminders of the scuffle with Garth come morning. 

 

“Quinn,” he said softly, “I need to ask you something.”

 

“What is it, my bonny wee pugilist?” Quinn asked, nuzzling his hair. 

 

“Up on the bridge last night, with Officer Córdoba,” Ben said slowly. “You guys looked like you were having a really good time.”

 

“It was an interesting evening of stargazing, yes,” Quinn affirmed. “What about it?”

 

“Well, it’s just that Garth made it sound like there was something… more going on. I told him he was full of it, but…”

 

Quinn cupped Ben’s face in one large palm. “But…?” His voice was gentle, non-accusatory.

 

Ben swallowed hard. “Was it just… stargazing?”

 

“No,” Quinn said calmly, stroking Ben’s hair. “He also shared some pictures of his lovely wife, their three children and two Persian cats.”

 

“Huh?” Ben said, sitting up. “He’s *straight*?”

 

Quinn nodded. “Very much so. The regular First Officer was taken ill, and Manuel was available on short notice. His daughter’s being married in a few months, and he was glad of the extra pay.”

 

“Oh, shit,” Ben groaned. “Quinn, I’m sorry. I should have known better than to believe anything that jerk said. He’s a born troublemaker.”

 

“Aye, ye should hae,” Quinn agreed somberly, his brogue coming to the fore, as it always did in times of deep emotion. “Just as *I* shouldna hae listened to his innuendos about ye and Peter Bartholomew. But we both let ourselves get led down a garden path.” He raised Ben’s scraped and bruised knuckles to his lips. “Can I be askin’ ye to be forgivin’ me?”

 

“Of course,” Ben exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Quinn’s neck and pressing as close as he could get. “I love you, and I’ll never distrust you again.”

 

“Shh,” Quinn soothed, gently rubbing his lad’s back, careful of sore muscles and bruises. “I love ye, too. It’s all behind us now, love. We’ll be goin’ home soon, and everythin’ will sort itself out. Get some sleep.” He rocked Ben in his arms, humming an old Irish lullaby, and Ben felt himself drifting away.

 

~*~*~*~

 

They were awakened the next morning by a polite knock. Quinn went to the door. “Good morning, Manuel.”

 

“Good morning, Professor. I just wanted to stop by and see how Mr. Kensington was getting along.”

 

“Mr. Kensington’s doing just fine, thanks,” Ben called from the bed. “Come on in, Mr. Córdoba. Quinn, don’t be rude, making him stand out there in the hall.” 

 

Quinn smiled. “Please,” he said, motioning Córdoba to enter.

 

The First Officer seemed surprisingly ill at ease, practically standing at attention just inside the entryway. Quinn offered him the chair, but he politely declined. Quinn sat on the edge of the bed.

 

“Gentlemen,” Córdoba began, “let me once again express the cruise line’s deepest regrets that your trip was so… action-packed. We want our passengers to enjoy themselves when they sail with us.” Both men nodded, at which he seemed to relax slightly. “I took the liberty of some… independent investigation, and thought you should know what I found out.”

 

“Yes, please,” Quinn replied, leaning forward as Córdoba pulled out a small notebook from his inside jacket pocket. Ben sat up against the pillows, trying not to wince as stiff muscles complained. Damned if he was going to let Córdoba think he was some kind of a wimp who couldn’t hold his own in a fight.

 

Córdoba cleared his throat. “On close questioning, Mr. Bartholomew admitted to having been party to a rather nefarious scheme to tarnish Mr. Kensington’s reputation on board ship.” He glanced at his notes. “He also implicated another passenger, claiming this person compelled him to make advances.” 

 

Ben sighed. “Let me guess. Garth Mulner?”

 

Córdoba nodded. “We believe so, yes, sir. Bartholomew identified him by name, as well as by his picture in the ticket file. Of course, Mr. Mulner denies any involvement.” The tight-lipped smile suggested that Córdoba wasn’t buying it, but hesitated to openly accuse a paying passenger. 

 

“What did he promise him?” Ben asked. “I mean, he had to have some way to make him do his dirty work, right?” 

 

“It seems our Mr. Bartholomew has a somewhat checkered past, as well as expensive tastes. He hadn’t worked with this particular crew before, but he has a history of ‘cozying up’ to affluent passengers, and providing special ‘services’ in return for their favors. While I can’t prove it – yet – my suspicion is that Mr. Mulner may have compromised him in some way and then used him against you, for whatever reason.” 

 

“Sounds like Garth,” Ben muttered. 

 

“Needless to say, Mr. Bartholomew is no longer employed by this cruise line, and I seriously doubt he’ll be able to secure work with our competitors.” Córdoba paused. “As for Mr. Mulner, Dr. Maddox has prescribed total bed rest for the duration of the trip, and will keep him in Sickbay until we dock in Miami.” 

 

Quinn chuckled darkly. “Please pass on our best wishes for his recovery.” 

 

“I shall be happy to do so,” Córdoba agreed, with a rather predatory smile of his own. “A shame he’ll have to miss the rest of the cruise, but we mustn’t take any chances on the health of our passengers, after all.”

 

“Glad you guys are on my side,” Ben said, with an exaggerated shiver. He started to get up, but Quinn pushed him firmly back against the pillows. “Aw, come on, Quinn, I’m fine! *And* I’m starving.” He turned to Córdoba. “Like to join us for some breakfast?”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Kensington, but I’m afraid I’m on duty in a few minutes. In fact, I was just on my way to the bridge.” He pocketed his notebook, and Quinn walked him to the door of the cabin. 

 

“Manuel,” he said softly, glancing back at Ben, who had laid back on the pillows. “Thank you for all your help.”

 

“You’re very welcome,” Córdoba said, with a smile. “I enjoyed our talk on the bridge. Perhaps we can squeeze in another navigation lesson before we make port.”

 

“I’d like that. That is, of course,” Quinn said, turning back to Ben, “if this one can be trusted without a chaperone. No more fisticuffs, you hear me?” 

 

Ben grinned and gave them both a thumbs up.

 

~*~*~*~

Epilogue

 

Adele gleefully tore into the gift-wrapped package on her lap, as Quinn and Ben watched from the sofa. Her gasp of delight said it all.

 

“Oh, mon Dieu! It is beautiful,” she breathed, lifting the multihued translucent sarong from the tissue paper. “Quelle coleurs!” She held it up and peered through it at her men, who grinned triumphantly at each other. “Je l’aime! Merci tres beaucoup, mes chers.” She continued in rapid French too complex for Ben to follow for several seconds more. They were obviously a success. 

 

Quinn leaned forward. “There’s more, jolie,” he said, gently pulling the fabric down from her face. “Look again.” 

 

“More?” Adele murmured, as she carefully laid the sarong in her lap. “What… oh, sacre bleu!” She giggled as she held up the matching bikini. “Quinn, you evil man!” 

 

“You did specify a ‘sexy’ souvenir,” Quinn said innocently. He turned to Ben. “Were those not the exact words in her note, Ben?”

 

“Yep,” said Ben, grinning. “And we knew better than to disappoint.” 

 

“Eh bien, you so very naughty boys,” murmured Adele, rising from her chair. “I assume I am to model it for you?”

 

“Mais bien sûr!” laughed Quinn, as he slipped an arm around Ben’s shoulders, eliciting a low growl from Cosette from her place on Ben’s lap. “Go on, try it on. I’m sure it will be well worth the wait.”

 

Adele gathered up her gifts. “Un moment, s’il vous plait.” She headed for the stairs, Cosette at her heels.

 

Ben leaned back into Quinn’s shoulder. “I think we’re a hit.”

 

Quinn nodded. “Absolutely.” He hummed his little Irish rebel tune as they waited for the fashion show.

 

Several minutes later, they heard the clack of heels descending the staircase. Both men’s mouths fell open.

 

Adele glided into the room, feminine curves emphasized by the skimpy two-piece bathing suit. The sarong hung low on her hips and displayed her tanned legs above scandalously high-heeled sandals. The glint in the sapphire-blue eyes said she was all too aware of the impact on her men. 

 

“Well?” she purred, walking across the carpeted living room and slowly twirling for their approval.

 

Ben swallowed hard. Adele might be several years older, but damn, she did that bikini proud. Quinn gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Jolie, you make the girl that modeled it look like a common streetwalker,” he said admiringly. “It’s gorgeous. *You’re* gorgeous.”

 

“Merci, monsieur,” she said, blowing him a kiss. 

 

Quinn rose and circled their beautiful cohort-in-crime, cataloging every detail. Ben watched, amused, as Adele flirtatiously cocked her hip and posed. It was easy to see why virtually every male student and faculty member on campus was head over heels for her. 

 

He smiled to himself. Garth wasn’t the only ghost that had been laid to rest on that cruise ship. Having faced down his own inner demons, it seemed almost ludicrous that Ben could ever have suspected the petite Parisienne of anything untoward. Adele was friend, sister, confidante and companion, near and dear to both their hearts.

 

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of Quinn’s voice from the center of the room. “It’s still missing something, Ben, don’t you think?” he mused, rubbing his bearded chin. “Subtle, but…”

 

Adele’s eyes widened, glancing uncertainly from one to the other. “You know,” Ben said, “I believe you’re right, Professor. Maybe it needs-” He dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box, tied up with a broad satin ribbon. 

 

Adele sat down next to him on the couch. The sarong parted dangerously close to her hip, leaving an expanse of silky thigh gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. He handed her the box. “Happy Valentine’s Day, cherie.”

 

Inside was a large double oyster shell. She glanced up, bewildered. “Est-ce une blague?” 

 

Quinn looked hurt. “A *joke*? Why, we looked long and hard to find such a perfect specimen. See how the gradients compliment the bikini? It’s obviously the clasp for the sarong.” 

 

“Stop teasing her, Quinn,” Ben said, chuckling. “Go on, Adele, open it. The shell’s just the wrapping.”

 

“Ah, oui?” Adele studied the shell for a moment, then accepted Ben’s pocket knife, carefully sliding the blade between the lips. “Ohhhh,” she breathed, lifting out the opera-length strand of pale pink pearls coiled inside. “C’est magnifique! Oh, Ben!” She threw her arms around him and kissed him full on the lips. “How beautiful! Merci beaucoup!” She rose and hugged Quinn, eyes shining as she played the pearls through her fingers. “Oh, mon coeur, they are exquisite! Je t’adore!” He got an exuberant kiss as well, then she dropped the pearls around her neck, where they hung nearly to her navel above the colorful sarong. “You are *so* good to me, both of you!” 

 

“I think she likes her gifts,” Ben said, with a grin. 

 

“Hard to go wrong with jewelry,” Quinn agreed. “And the color’s perfect for you, jolie. Enjoy them.” 

 

“You are forgiven for not sending me a single postcard, you bad boys,” she murmured, moving to the hall mirror. Smiling mischievously at her reflection, she added, “I shall wear it to the end-of-term faculty party at Sydney Hall.”

 

“Brava!” Quinn enthused. “We’ll be sure to have the paramedics on stand-by. Mark will have a heart attack!” 

 

Laughing, the three compatriots raised their wine glasses in a toast.

 

~end~


End file.
